


Ready to leap

by janesgravity (janescott)



Series: On the Precipice [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Dark Ritual, M/M, Redcliffe, zevran musings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-11 23:39:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16862152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janescott/pseuds/janesgravity
Summary: The idea for this series is a fic of a pivotal moment in the Warden, Hawke and the Inquisitor's life. First up, Zevran and the Warden.The night before the Dark Ritual. Zevran reflects.





	Ready to leap

**Author's Note:**

> In-game, Morrigan is waiting in the Warden's room to tell him about the ritual. However, for the purposes of this fic, it makes more sense (to me) to have the Warden and Zevran sharing a room, and the conversation with Morrigan takes place (off-screen) in her room.
> 
> Beta’d by Rei the llama. Thank you, lovely :)

Zevran stands on the balcony of the Redcliffe Castle room he’s sharing with Pascal and watches as the sun sets and the darkening sky fills with stars.

Tiny pinpricks of light against the inevitable darkness.

He’s restless, and he’s not entirely sure why. Pascal has been gone for hours, holed up with Alistair and that other Grey Warden they had saved in Denerim - Riordan. 

Zevran wants to pace, or fuck, or fight, or - he stalks from one end of the narrow balcony to the other.

Or, or or. 

He never expected to be here. He thought he would come to Ferelden, and the remaining Grey Wardens would kill him, and that - would be an end. 

He still doesn’t know what Pascal had seen in him that day of the ambush that had made him reach out his hand instead of reaching for his staff to blast Zevran back to the Void. Zevran’s never asked. 

Instead of dying; instead of finding an end to the pain and regret he’d been carrying within himself for so long, Zevran had found a new beginning. A new purpose. And yes - to start with it had been a means to an end; protection from the Crows. Maybe, one day, something for which to wake up in the morning and put one foot in front of the other. 

Over the months their ragtag little group of Grey Wardens, mages, rogues and warriors had grown closer. Something like a family, Zevran suspects. They have little in common beyond the Wardens’ common purpose of ending the Blight, which seems impossible at times. But it’s also enough.

Zevran would look at the two of them - Alistair, and Pascal, both so young, yet carrying such a heavy burden. Alistair seemed to wear it lightly enough, but he also spent a lot of time in conversation with Wynne, an eternally steadying presence. 

For himself, Zevran had found himself drawn to Pascal almost from the very beginning. It was like a shock of cold water, at first. He had assumed, after … after Rinna, that he would never harbour strong feelings for another person. But there was something about Pascal; about the way he walked so lightly in the world, yet so … grounded, at the same time. Zevran had been drawn to him almost helplessly; like a moth going towards flame.

Still; their relationship had developed slowly, which was another shock to Zevran. Rinna and Taliesin aside, he was mostly used to bedding men and women as a means to an end - the end usually being a bloody dagger and Zevran slipping into the night, no more than a shadow. It had left him feeling rather insubstantial. Like his own progress through the world was no more remarkable than an old bloodstain, an echo of past pain that could no longer be recalled.

Pascal though … Zevran sighs a little to himself as he stares out over Lake Calenhad. Pascal had looked at him - had _seen_ him in a way no one else ever had.

And that - 

“Zevran?”

Zevran turns from the view of the lake, a smile on his lips. His introspection could wait.

“I am out here on the balcony. Enjoying the view. Perhaps for the last time. Join me.”

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I hate to think of all this being overrun by the Blight.”

Pascal stands beside him, his slender hands curled around the balustrade. 

Zevran turns to study Pascal’s profile, taking in the familiar, handsome face. He sees tension in Pascal’s shoulders; a downturn to his mouth. “You’ve been gone so long, I was about to send your dog out looking for you.”

Pascal turns to face Zevran then, and Zevran feels his worry spike. Pascal’s face looks paler than usual and his eyes - “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I - come inside. There’s … something I have to tell you.”

Zevran frowns as Pascal turns and goes back into their room. Zevran pauses, and takes a deep breath. He has a sudden, strange sense of foreboding.

He finds Pascal on the couch by the fire. It’s not a particularly cold night, but Pascal has used his magic to start a fire in the grate anyway. Zevran pauses for a moment, admiring the play of the flames over Pascal’s skin.

“You appear to be very deep in thought. I shall have to do something about that.”

Pascal looks up and gives Zevran a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Come and sit down. We need to talk.”

“Uh oh,” Zevran says, striving for a light tone. “Nothing good ever follows those words.” He sits down beside Pascal and takes his hand, winding their fingers together, weaving them in and out until he can’t tell them apart.

“So, what is it, Amore. What has you looking so serious?”

Pascal sighs, and turns his face to Zevran, kissing him lightly.

“First - I love you. I don’t know how I would have got through this past year without you.” 

Zevran lifts their joined hands and kisses the back of Pascal’s. “I love you too, but - you are starting to scare me just a little bit.”

“I’m sorry, Zevran, I’m not trying to scare you. It’s just - I found out some things tonight - about being a Warden, and what’s coming and I want to tell you but - it’s. Hard. 

“I only became a Warden because I trusted a friend who put me in an impossible position. And I’m - grateful, ultimately, because that path led me to you, and to Alistair, and I got to see so much more of the world than I would have in the Circle. But - “

“But - there is a cost,” Zevran says softly. Pascal sighs, and nods. “Being a Grey Warden, I’ve learned, is mostly about the cost. What we saw at Soldier’s Peak, some of the things Alistair has told me, but this … 

“There is a reason why it has to be a Grey Warden that kills an Archdemon.” Pascal lets go of Zevran’s hand, but only to turn and face him fully. He draws his knees up under his chin and wraps his arms around them. He looks so young to Zevran, suddenly, and … fragile, almost. As though his place in the world is made up of a delicate and deadly maze that he cannot see the end of. Which, Zevran thinks, is not inaccurate.

“Tell me, amore. What is it. We agreed, after - after Taliesin - to always be honest. Please - what is wrong?”

“The reason. That it has to be a Grey Warden who kills an Archdemon - the reason that only a Warden can kill one … when an Archdemon is slain, the soul of the old god … escapes, for want of a better word. It’s released, but doesn’t die; it - searches. For … the nearest sign of the taint. And it goes into that body. But - it - it’s impossible to survive that. So - the Warden who slays the Archdemon …”

Zevran feels the pit fall out of his stomach. His heart races, and he surges up from the sofa, unable to keep still.

“Dies,” he says flatly. “The Warden dies.”

“I - yes.”

“So you are telling me - after all this time together, after _everything_ that you have worked so hard for - that - I’m just. Going to lose you? You are going to, to die?!” Zevran’s voice breaks on the last word and he feels a lump rise in his throat, threatening to stifle him.

“Possibly. But. There might be…. a way. A way out.”

“A way out,” Zevran echoes, puzzled.

“Yes, but - I don’t know. I just. I don’t know.”

“Amore, please. I cannot - if there is a way that you can survive this - you have to take it.” Zevran hardly knows what he’s saying; the shock of Pascal’s revelations almost too much for him to take in. And he knows that Pascal is meant to keep the Wardens’ secrets to himself; not share them with an outsider. But they had promised each other that they would tell each other everything, and it’s something Pascal takes very seriously. 

The thought that he could _lose_ Pascal, and not have known why…. He feels a shiver go down his back, even as he sits back down on the sofa.

Pascal looks into Zevran’s eyes, searching. Zevran looks back, silent; giving - he hopes - Pascal what he needs from his expression - love, support; unconditional trust.

“There’s more. I spoke with Morrigan after I left Riordan and Alistair. She’s the one with the way out. Only … “ 

Pascal stands suddenly and moves away from the fire and the furniture. He paces the room one length; turns and paces back, saying nothing. Zevran is silent as well, knowing this is something Pascal does when he needs to think.

“How is Morrigan involved?” he asks Pascal eventually, quietly. This stops Pascal in his tracks and he sighs. The sun is setting now, and casting long shadows across the room.

Zevran doesn’t move, and after a silent, weighted moment, Pascal comes to sit down beside him.

“Morrigan knows what happens when an Archdemon is killed. I don’t know how she knows but - she said there’s a way to - save the Warden who deals the killing blow. It involves magic. Very, very old magic, according to Morrigan, I’ve never even _heard_ of it -”

“Pascal! What is the ritual?”

 

“Oh. Sorry. Um. I have to - or Alistair has to, but I can’t really ask him to do it I don’t think - anyway. One of us has to … um, be with Morrigan.”

Under normal circumstances, Zevran finds Pascal’s reticence in talking about sex charming. He blushes, which highlights his fine-cut cheekbones and his eyes. Tonight, however…. Zevran sighs.

“So, Morrigan told you that you or Alistair need to have sex with her. To what end?” Zevran clenches his teeth, even as Pascal reaches out and grabs Zevran’s hands with his own.

“She said, that if one of us … uh. Well. The idea is that - she gets pregnant. And then, because the baby is so brand-new, and - it will have the taint - it can survive taking on the Archdemon’s soul when it dies. The baby absorbs the old god, and whoever slays it will survive. It - it has to be tonight.”

Zevran sits in silent shock, barely feeling Pascal’s hands in his own. He takes a deep breath, and raises Pascal’s hand, kissing the back of it. His heart is racing and his mind is reeling with Pascal’s revelations, but he knows what he has to say.

“Do it. Go. Do everything that is within your power to survive. I love you, and I will be with you, no matter what happens. But I cannot - “ Zevran stops, takes a breath and looks into the eyes of the man who changed his life, simply by reaching out his hand.

He doesn’t know who moves first, but they’re kissing suddenly, hard and desperate, but tender and familiar all at once. 

Zevran presses himself as close to Pascal as he can; taking in everything - the slight ozone smell of lyrium; the feel of his mouth and his hands tangled in Zevran’s hair.

“I love you so much,” Pascal says when they finally part. The room is fully dark now; the only light from the fire.

“And I you, mi amore. I will be here for you no matter what. Now - go. Save your life.”

Pascal leaves, then, after a final, lingering kiss. 

Zevran is suddenly conscious of the silence in a way he’s not used to. He shivers and stirs the fire into life for something to do with his hands. He roams the room. Turning lamps on and shutting the balcony doors. He sits back down on the sofa, but stands up almost immediately.

He makes his way to the bed, and perches on the edge. Normally, he would fill his time with a soothing ritual - sharpening his daggers, or roaming the city in the dark of the night. But his mind refuses to settle.

He refuses to think about what Pascal might be doing in the moment. He takes a deep breath, and he waits.

Zevran doesn’t expect to fall asleep, but he must doze off at some stage, because the next thing he knows, Pascal is in the bed with him, pressing kisses to his neck to wake him up. Zevran stirs and blinks; realising that it’s almost dawn. Pascal looks sombre in the grey half-light of near day, and his hair is damp.

“I went to the baths before I came back,” is all he says, before pressing a hesitant kiss to Zevran’s mouth - as though he’s not sure of his welcome.

Zevran feels a tangle of emotion - jealousy, and relief, and a tangle of fear and desire. He pushes himself up on the bed and claims Pascal’s mouth, wordlessly telling him everything that Zevran cannot say out loud. 

He feels the exhale of Pascal’s breath against his cheek and that releases the knot inside his stomach. He doesn’t know what the day will bring, but they will face what is coming together.

As always.


End file.
